


Arsonists Lullabye

by JournalMaBelle



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Suicide Attempt, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 11:30:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8326138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JournalMaBelle/pseuds/JournalMaBelle
Summary: Frederick Chilton is a broken man. So lost in his despair he seeks the only way he knows how to stop the pain when the most unlikely of people saves him ... in a sense.





	1. Mother Dearest

**Author's Note:**

> A fan fiction of sorts based on a current role-playing thread between Frederick Chilton and Francis Dolarhyde. Warnings of attempted suicide, violence and sexual situations. Title comes from the song of the same name by Hozier which gave me inspiration while writing this. Also first time writing fan fiction so be kind :)

**CHAPTER 1:**

When he was a child it was far easier to deal with his mothers verbal and psychological abuse. As a child he was naive enough to believe that one day he would be successful in gaining her love and affection. And so as a small boy he would be patient, stand before her with his head hung low as she screamed at him, pointed out his many flaws and the constant disappointments he brought into her life, all the while a tiny drop of hope staying alight inside of him that one day she would see the good in him and love him as only a mother could. 

How wrong he had been.

Now at the age of forty-seven it was becoming increasingly difficult to be in the presence of his mother, the great Mrs Chilton. Her deeply accented southern voice was like nails on a chalkboard to him as she sat on the daybed lounge in the conservatory of his home, a manhattan cocktail in her hand, her sixth but who was he to keep count and of course dressed in a pristine chanel suit accessorised with antique pearls as she proceeded to inform her son of what a continuous disappointment he was in her life. 

Before her visit to his home would have been somewhat manageable, however upon informing her that he had ‘lost’ his position at the hospital and was currently seeking employment elsewhere, well by her hysterical ranting anyone would have thought he had just gone on a murderous rampage killing hundreds of innocent people. At least with that she would have been perhaps mildly proud to have her sons face on the front page of multiple newspapers if only knowing it would guarantee her an interview with Barbra Walters at some point to get the viewpoint of the poor mothers side of this tragic story.

Instead he was given a long lecture on why he could never do anything right in his life. After all the hard work she had done to ensure he had achieved a good education, sent to the best schools only for him to fuck it all up and throw it away. Not exactly the language she used, after all his mother was a lady, a proper southern belle and no such words would ever escape her tongue, except on those rare occasions he had overheard her speaking to the servants during hosted parties at her home, then his mother could make even the hardest sailor blush.

He takes another long sip of his whiskey, closing his eyes and savouring the way it burned the lining of his throat, bringing a warmth to his body that felt comforting against all this coldness being rained down upon him.

“Frederick? Frederick?! Are you listening to me?” 

He barely registers her voice at first but then it quickly begins to echo constantly inside his head like a broken record. Chilton opens his eyes and glances over to her with a false and well practiced smile upon his face.

“Yes mother.” He replies, the sarcasm that he is so good at dishing out to others, drips from his tongue like venom.

“Don’t you dare you use that tone with me.” She scolds him with a stern look upon her face which is a miracle in itself due to the amount of botox injections the woman has received in the last ten years of her life.  
  
“I assure you mother, there was no tone … another cocktail?” He asks, already standing from his seat as he walks over to the small table at the other end of the room and mixes her another drink just the way she likes it.

As he added the perfect blend of whiskey, vermouth and bitters, he stares at the amber liquid and begins to contemplate how easy it would be to poison her. He was a certified and licensed doctor after all, it wouldn’t take much to get his hands on the right drug, to know the exact dose that would be fatal but not enough to cause suspicion. But where would the fun be in that? No, he would rather watch the life drain from her eyes as his hands tightened around her slender neck until he stole every last breath from her body. The very thought of that pleasant image placed a smirk upon his lips as he let his imagination run wild until that shrill voice called him back to reality.

Picking up her drink, careful not to spill a single drop or cause a mess he walked back over to her and handed her the drink and then proceeded to sit back down across from her and listen to the continued failure that was his life.

 

 


	2. The Sweetest Goodbye

**CHAPTER 2:**

He had never been a heavy drinker. Not even after the unforgettable events carved into his memory with Gideon, he had never given into weakness and allowed alcohol to be a crutch to what many would call his miserable life. Yet here he was now, already on his eighth or was it ninth glass of a 152 year old whiskey he had paid a considerable amount of money for at auction. Hell he couldn’t even taste it anymore, it was less about savouring it’s unique blend and more about getting as blind drunk as his body could possibly allow him.

His mothers annual visit around the holiday season was one that often left him drained and exhausted. Mostly it would take him an average of two weeks to recover from having her physically be in his home. He would clean and scrub down every inch of his house as if trying to banish any remnants of her foul form from the sanctuary he called home. His little protective bubble that he was safe and sound inside … well he had been until Hannibal Lecter had burst that bubble by slaughtering a bunch of FBI agents rather theatrically, not to mention the half eaten Gideon in his wine cellar. And then there was Francis Dolarhyde, ex-serial killer who occasionally took it upon himself to crash at his ex-psychiatrists home and lay claim to his sofa, food and cat. Frederick laughed at the thought as he poured some more whiskey into his glass, partially missing the glass and having some of the drink sloppily fall onto the table instead. Ignoring the mess, far too drunk to care and allow his OCD to take control of him, he stood up on unsteady legs and grabbed his glass and casually made his way to his bedroom.

What a far cry from the man he had once been. At one stage in his life he had it all, or at least in Chilton’s mind he did. He was successful, held a prominent position at the hospital he worked for, still had his right kidney and vision in his left eye. And now … well he was simply a shell of a man of who or at least what he used to be.  
  
Stumbling into his room, just managing not to trip over Sigmund who was lazily asleep in the doorway. Drinking the last of the contents of his glass he tossed the empty glass onto his bed and walked into the joining ensuite. Using the bathroom counter to steady himself, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the small handgun he had purchased some weeks ago. He placed it on the counter and at last managed to lift his pitiful head to look up at the pathetic figure staring back at him in the mirror. 

He looked exactly how he felt. A broken man. There was only so much that life could throw at you before the world began to crumble and come crashing down around you. Frederick had known he was never a strong man, that had always been clearly evident in his life, especially in regards to how others treated him. However he had thought himself stronger then this and yet here he was ready to put an end to all the suffering he allowed his body and mind to experience.

Opening the bathroom cabinet he grabbed a bottle of strong pain pills and popped a few into his mouth. Weak. Couldn’t even be sober to do this. 

_Pitiful. Worthless. Nothing. Insignificant._

His mothers words echoed in his head causing him to cringe and grab his head, pulling at his hair tightly.

“Shut up … shut up …… shut up ………. _SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!_ ” He roared in anger at the invisible voice inside his head as he slammed his hand against the mirror with such force it shattered the glass leaving the figure that starred back at him even more broken and distorted then what he already saw.

Grabbing the gun, he lifted it up and positioned it against the temple of his head. His breathing grew more laboured as he willed himself to not allow himself to change his mind like the coward he was born to always be. He pulled the hammer back, the click deafening to him as he closed his eyes ready to pull the trigger.

 


	3. Salvation

**CHAPTER 3:**

There was no pain. No relief. Hell there wasn’t even a gunshot. Instead all that was felt was the strong hand of another person encompassing his own and pulling the gun away from his head.

Confusion washed over Chilton and perhaps some relief if he was at all honest with himself. Daring to open his eyes, he stared into the mirror to find Dolarhyde standing directly behind him. There was no emotion in Francis’s face, there never was which had always be increasingly frustrating to Chilton as he could never get an accurate read on the man.  
  
Frederick tried to speak, to explain but instead the words fell out of his mouth in a jumble. 

“I …. I …… didn’t go, want to go on ……. can’t I.”  
  
He expected Francis to walk away and leave and they would never speak of this moment in Frederick’s life again. But that didn’t happen. Instead Chilton was grabbed by the scruff of his neck and his face slammed forcefully into the already broken mirror. Pain immediately shot throughout his head that he barely had time to register as he was spun around and pushed rather harshly against the bathroom counter. He tried to raise his hands to defend himself in some form, opening his mouth to tell him to stop, yet instead of forming words to speak the barrel of the gun was shoved into his open mouth as Francis wrapped one large hand around his throat and tightened his hold just enough not to choke Chilton but forcibly enough to cause pain. 

Frederick stared into darkened eyes that held such darkness and fury in them that made him his drunken state quickly sober up.

“You truly wish to die so eagerly.” His stern, cold voice spoke to him as he shoved the gun further into his mouth, scraping his teeth, as Francis fingers rested ever so lightly on the trigger. It would take only the slightest of pressure to pull it and blow Chilton’s brains all over the bathroom mirror.

“Is this what you want? What you desire?” He asked as he slowly began increasing the pressure on Chilton’s throat until the doctor began to see white spots soon followed by black.

So this was how it was to end. Made sense. He had been gutted by a madman, shot in the face by a serial killers victim and now murdered by an ex-serial killer. Rather fitting actually. At least it meant he didn’t have to do it himself, not that he actually believed it could have successfully gathered up the courage to kill himself in the first place.

Just as he thought these were his final moments in the world, the darkness lifted and he was suddenly gasping for breath as both the gun and hand were removed from his body. Chilton turned around, gasping and coughing as he turned on the faucet and splashed water into his dry mouth while gulping like a fish out of water. Turning off the tap he barely had time to compose himself as a powerful hand grabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him away from the sink and out of the bathroom. Many times he tripped over his own feet in uncertainty and fear only to be simply picked back up as though he weighed nothing before being shoved onto his bed.

He opened his mouth to speak, to reason with Francis, perhaps even plea for his pitiful life but words that never formed were quickly ended by one word.

“Silence.” Spoken in such a commanding tone that Chilton could only do as instructed and comply although part of his brain was also at that exact moment figuring out a way to escape, though he doubted he would make it very far.

Frederick expects more pain to follow but in a surprising twist of events it doesn’t. Instead a hard mouth crashes against his own. It isn’t gentle or loving, just rough and raw, teeth hitting teeth as fear and uncertainty turns into something unknown. Chilton finds himself responding despite alarm bells sounding off in his head as to how fucked up this all is. He willingly opens his mouth, invites Francis inside, allows him to ravish him with the same fierceness that was held within those dark, soulless eyes. 

It had been so long since he had felt the warmth of another human body like this. He reeks of desperation as clothes are removed, or more exactly torn and ripped from his body as skin touches skin. There is no sweetness in their love making, there is passion but it is more animalistic as the more dominant of species claims the weaker one. And as Chilton reaches the height of his climax he realises what Francis has done for him that day. He gave him something no other person would, a chance to feel for at least one moment human again.

 


	4. The Dragon Awakens

**CHAPTER 4:**

Waking the next morning he feels a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders. The desperation and yearning to no longer be in this world removed as small pieces of the man he once was before the hail storm of bullshit rained down on him resurfaced.

Frederick makes himself get out of bed that is once again empty and cold. Groggily walking into the bathroom, he stares into the broken mirror. Despite his face being bruised and swollen, he starts to see Doctor Frederick Chilton again. He smiles at this wondering how you send a ‘thank you for fucking me back to my old self’ card to someone. 

Lifting his arm to turn on the faucet he flinches at a sharp, stabbing pain in his shoulder. Frowning he moves it again to once again be greeted with searing pain. Not being able to see anything visible, he turns his back to the mirror and turns his head ever so slightly. Frederick’s face pales as though he has seen death itself as he stares at the clearly evident bite mark of human teeth embedded into his flesh. It is deep and bloody and just looking at it makes Chilton feel as though he needs a tetanus shot.

He has been marked. 

Claimed. 

But not by Francis Dolarhyde, oh no, by something far worse and far more dangerous.

_THE GREAT RED DRAGON._

It is then that Chilton truly realises how close he came to death and only by chance he survived the wrath of the dragon.

For now ……

 

 

 

 


End file.
